I am an Ironman!

It was Saturday night and we had eight adults and seven children all screeching and yakking away over communal dinner on our balcony. Mark, Andrew, Dan and myself had booked 4 apartments in the one complex, right across the road from Flynn’s beach and were nervously and excitedly getting pumped up for the next day.

We’d arrived in Port Macquarie over the last couple of days to register and prepare for the first Ironman that any of us had ever attempted. There was an amazing buzz in town as it was completely taken over by 1,400 competitors, plus their families, friends, supporters and race volunteers. Walking round the shops was like I’d imagine hanging out in the Olympic village. Everyone looked super fit and was wearing athletic clothes, half of them Ironman branded. Most of the bodies seemed Ironman branded too with the M-dot tattoos on ankles everywhere. Plus the roads were constantly filled with people running, bikes rolling or cars cruising…with bikes attached to the roof.

The evening was rudely brought to close by pouring rain on the balcony and we all toddled off to bed. It had been pouring for the last few days and transition was a mudpit. My supposedly waterproof gear bag contained a sodden mass of paper when I picked it up at registration.

I fell asleep easily enough, but naturally was haunted by vivid anxiety dreams all night. The situation wasn’t assisted by hearing roaring torrential downpours every time I roused into consciousness. I was up before the 4am alarm and grabbed some of my brekky comfort food - peanut butter and banana on toast before trying to sit and relax in the dark for a while. All too soon it was 5am and “go time”.

The rain had stopped but the transition area had progressed from a mudpit to an actual lake. The bags with our cycling and running gear in them appeared to be floating on a partly submerged atoll in its centre. We checked in and went to do last minute preparations on our bikes. I’d put new colour-coded tyres on the day before and they still felt full of air pressure, but to be sure I got the guy next to me to lend me his pump to check. One more pump of air – perfect!

30 seconds later I obsessively gave the tyres another little pinch to make sure (it was like a nervous tic by this stage) and lo and behold, the one on front was flat as can be. Before panic could set in I grabbed the nearest Shimano mechanic and by the time I’d turned to grab tyre levers he’d taken off the wheel, stripped the tyre and tube and had his hand out for the spare – amazing. He unrolled the spare and said “You can’t use this, it’s got a patch on it!” What a monkey, I’d had an old repaired tyre in the saddlebag. Only one spare left, hopefully this was a new one. Thankfully it was and he got it on the wheel no problem, but any semblance of composure I had was shot. I just had to walk away, ankle deep in mud, and slurp towards the swim start with Andrew and Mark.

There were obviously butterflies in my stomach as I waded into the water and bobbed there waiting for the start, but also a strange sense of calm. Unlike the shorter races (of which I was classing half ironmans at this point!) where it's go go go! right from the starters gun, I kept telling myself that this was going to be a hell of a long day and it was all about slow and steady. So the canon rang out with a double shot and off we went, 1,400 people thrashing through the coffee coloured water.

The swim was good. There was the typical argy bargey at the start where by goggles got kicked off three times and the usual feeling of "Oh no I'm breathing too hard. I can't sight correctly. My wetsuit is uncomfortable...". However after going out and coming back for the end of the first lap, I had settled into a brilliant rhythm. I was calm and clearheaded, not thinking about anything negative but just focussed on long even strokes, catching and pulling and gliding. It was deeply meditative and the 3.8km moved by a lot more quickly than I had expected, that second lap just flew and before I knew it I was jogging up the ramp feeling bloody good! About 1:05 for the swim which was much faster than I anticipated and I felt like I’d taken it very easy as well so I was set up well for the bike.

I heard Sarah call my name in the crowd but couldn’t see her, then I was past and picking up my bike bag. It took some time to get all my gear together for a complete change of outfit, but I was glad I did, then grabbed my bike and took of for the first of three 60km laps.

The hills leaving town were ok and the settled into a nice zone along the long flat Pacific Drive. MY HR was right in the zone I wanted it to be of 13 – 140 bpm and my cadence was up around 95rpm. Perfect.

I had what I thought was a sound nutrition plan of nothing for the first 20minutes, then every 20 minutes take a full banana, half a powerbar, or 100 calories of strongly mixed carb drink (Perpetuem which is totally vegan – soy based protein). That’s 300 calories an hour. In between I would snack on dates from my jersey pocket to get a bit more in.

I had read a lot about the most common cause of people not being able to finish ironman – their stomach shutting down. This was because they mixed their carb drink too strong, or simply didn’t drink enough water when they ate. This means your stomach doesn’t have enough fluid to digest the calories so the food just sits in your stomach and backs up.

I was terrified of this happening so I pounded water like there was no tomorrow to make sure I had enough to digest all that damn food I was eating. I didn’t have time for Gatorade and I figured I didn’t need the calories (I had enough in my food) and the food should have sufficient electrolytes. Hmmmm.

By the midpoint of the first lap of the bike I was not feeling good. My legs were hurting and finding it really difficult to keep the pace going. My legs just wouldn’t go round and my attitude to the race started getting darker and more negative. I’ve had that feeling before – lack of nutrition. But here I had eaten so much I was a giant ball of food, it definitely couldn’t be that. And I’d drank enough to digest everything. So what was going wrong?

I ran through it all in my head. I’d easily trained enough on the bike that the distance at that HR on virtually flat roads (compared to my typical hilly Sydney rides) should have felt like nothing. My HR and cadence was perfect. I’d held back in the swim and I’d tapered well over the last 3 weeks so I should have been eating this up. But minute by minute I was struggling more and more, slowing down further and becoming more upset and angry about the whole thing.

Shortly after the ride turnaround Andrew caught and passed me. I tried to stay near him but by halfway back into town he’d taken off into the distance. I kept eating and drinking gallons of water and tried to stay positive. I smiled and waved when I saw Sarah and the girls outside out hotel, but it was a mask. Heading back out of town on the second lap my chain slipped and I took the opportunity to take a pee in the bushes. A torrent of absolutely clear water poured out of me like niagra falls for what felt like about 7 minutes. Well at least I knew I was properly hydrated. That should make me feel better, off I went and continued with the plan.

Slower and slower and more and more despairing. I made it to the turnaround in the bush and stopped to pee again. Then again at the Lake Cathie aid station. Both times I flushed out another few litres of clear water. It was raining steadily on the way back into town for the 2nd time and I was angry at the rain, angry at everyone who passed me, angry at my legs and just generally a cranky mess. I stuck to the eating plan because it was all I could think to do as my average speed dropped further and more riders streamed past me. One guy commented on my brand new bright green tyres (matching my bike frame and shorts may I add) which made me smile, and I was super friendly to all the volunteers at the aid stations, thanking them all and waving at the kids which made me feel a little better.
The hills stung coming back into town, I forced a smile for Sarah and the crew and headed back out for the final lap. Shortly after I had to stop to pee again. This was getting ridiculous. At that point I thought “I’m not going to make it. I have grave doubts that I’ll be able to finish one more lap on the bike. I’ve only gone 120km but it feels like double that, I feel like I’ve been riding forever and I’ve got absolutely nothing left in my legs. I had this race and everything about it, and I don’t know why! If I even managed to get to the end of the ride I’ll be happy, but that’s it. There’s no way I can run three steps, let along a bloody marathon.” It was a dark place.

Dan came past me around this time and look concerned. He asked how my race was going. “I’m suffering man, I’m really suffering” I croaked out. He made appropriate consolations and continued on, looking strong, as I proceeded to get weaker and slower and more upset.

I tried to think about every possibility of what went wrong, then it occurred to me. In my paranoia about gastro shut-down and being insufficiently fuelled, I had been drinking way too much water for the conditions (it wasn’t that hot). While I was able to digest all my food, the problem was that I had flushed all the electrolytes and sodium out of my muscles and hadn’t been replacing it with sports drink. There wasn’t nearly enough sodium in the food to compensate (I found out later) and the lack of sodium in my system meant I couldn’t retain any fluid in my body, which is why I was urinating like crazy, only exacerbating the problem. I remembered an article I had read earlier which said something like this:


“When exercising for a long time, triathletes lose sodium and other minerals in their
sweat. Drinking too much water while at the same time losing sodium can result in a too-low
sodium level, or hyponatremia. Hyponatremia can be caused by dozens of different factors, but in triathletes excessive drinking is often, but not always, the common denominator. Even in the absence of other physiological provocations, excessive drinking alone can result in hyponatremia, as has occurred in people who have ingested large volumes of fluid

A study reported that 18% of the 330 race finishers at the 1997 New Zealand Ironman triathlon were hyponatremic. The authors concluded that fluid overload was responsible for 73% of those individuals with severe hyponatremia. It was also found that 29% of the athletes in the 1984 Hawaiian Ironman triathlon had developed the condition.”

If that’s what it was, the only solution was to get electrolytes in fast. I was near the final turnaround, at the halfway point of the third and final lap, so at the next aid station I grabbed a Gatorade and skulled the whole bottle. At the next aid station 10km later I did the same thing, then again at the next one. Coming back into down I still felt my legs were ruined and had nothing left and I was still slowing down (and dying to get off that damn bike). However I was starting to feel better. My mood changed, I was getting more positive, and I thought “Dammit I AM going to get running off this bike and I AM going to finish this race!”

I’ve never been so happy in all my life to get off the bike and I threw it towards the catchers and grabbed my bike to run bag. The change seemed to take forever, but it was nice to have fresh clothes on. I really felt like I was at the back of the back after all the people who had passed me on the last 2 laps of the ride, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling, but I sort of didn’t care. I hit the portaloo again to unleash another torrent then headed out on the run.

Almost immediately I felt better, I tried to pick up the pace and was able to go ok. It was slow and I couldn’t get my HR over about 130bpm, but it felt comfortable and I was in such a better psychological mood. I cruised along, remembering I had grabbed some sodium tabs last night from Dan and had about 5 in my pocket. I’d never taken them before but this seemed as good a time as any to give them a try so I had one. Not sure if it made any difference but it couldn’t have hurt. I was determined to finish so wanted to make sure I kept putting calories in my body, no matter how I felt. I had a gel at the aid station with some water and kept knocking back Gatorade after that.

No much can be said about the first lap of the run, it was a slog. My pace dropped as my legs were fried. They normally wouldn’t be that bad after a 180km virtually flat ride (especially as slow as I was doing it), but I guess having leeched all the electrolytes out of my muscles they just had nothing left. I couldn’t believe I had 2 laps still to run, but I knew I’d get there eventually.

I saw Andrew, Mark and Dan getting further and further in front of me at every turnaround, they all looked like they were running strongly and I was really happy for the guys and cheered them on. By this stage my mood was buoyant. And that’s how it stayed for the rest of the race.

The last two laps went basically like this – I stopped at almost every portaloo to pee. I kept drinking Gatorade and eating the fruit they provided, as well as licking the paddle pop sticks of vegemite to get a savoury taste in my mouth. I walked all the aid stations and all the hills and tried to run in between as I got slower and slower. I cheered up everytime I ran past Sarah who was the best supporter I could have had.

I high fived every kid and thanked every cheering spectator. I chatted to everybody I could keep up with. I was grinning like an idiot and shuffling like a geriatric but I was happy running, I love running, and I knew I would be an ironman soon. I just kept thinking of the Buddhist concept of impermanence. And the graffito I’d read “Pain is temporary, but the achievement lasts forever”. I had to suffer for a few more hours, but I would get there and then the suffering would be worth it.

One guy I was chatting with told me I should drink the coke they were offering at the aid stations, even though I don’t typically do caffeine. So I did on the last lap and it changed my life. Suddenly I picked up the pace and the walking breaks melted away as I cruised in a little caffinated zone of excitement for the final 6 kms from the last turnaround at Rocky Point, back into town in the pitch dark towards the finish.

Those minutes sped by and suddenly I was blinking in the bright lights of the finish chute, with throngs of people cheering like crazy on both sides. I raised my arms, kept up the jog and crossed over the finish line almost delirious with happiness. I couldn’t believe I’d managed to do it. To some extent I still can’t. Especially because halfway through I thought it was all over.

The catchers were lovely, but I felt fine. My HR was never that high, I think it averaged about 115 on the run. The marathon took me almost 2 hours more than my last one, I crept in a shade under 5 hours for the run and crossed the finish in 13:05. I had told myself that between 12 and 13 hours I’d be happy with and considering how badly my race had gone, to be within 5 minutes of that time was incredible. I was (and still am) nothing but happy about that result.

I grabbed a free massage for about half an hour, then picked up my medal and finishers shirt and Andrew found me in the recovery tent, saying that Sarah was concerned about me. He’d asked at the medical tent, which was overflowing and had run out of beds, and then found me getting up from my massage.

Sarah, my saint of a wife, had been cheering me on from before the start of the swim, she was there at the swim finish and I got to see her twice on every lap of the ride and the run. It was a gruelling and long day for her too, but I was so appreciative and so happy to see her every time I came past. Her support really helped me get through.

And I was so proud of the boys I had been training with! They executed a perfect race and looked absolutely great on both the ride and the run, all three of them coming in between 11:30 and 12:00. And they’re all at least 10 years older than me.

The last few days have been incredible. Such a high to have finished, to have gone through such suffering and psychological torture and be able to change plans, pull my race out of the bag and make it through and actually enjoy and end up loving the race. I can’t even express the emotions. Especially thinking back to my stress fracture of the pelvis, not having run a step for 6 months from July to January, then only very gradually building up over 3 months from no running to my first ironman. I’ve been riding on a cloud of bliss.

And now in 3 hours we get on a plane for a month long round the world holiday to San Francisco, New York, Toronto, London, Paris, Israel and Bangkok. Perfect time to recover… by drinking and eating like crazy and hanging out with good friend of ours who live all over the world.